Stanny and Ky
by vindictive locomotive
Summary: "You really think we can pull this off?" Kyle asked, somewhat incredulously. Stan smiled warmly before ruffling Kyle's hair and kissing the top of it. "Think of it this way," he said as he titled Kyle's chin up with the tips of his fingers, "if we do, we'll never have to see this Godforsaken town again." Oneshot. Style. Songfic based on Lay Me Down by The Dirty Heads.


**Hey guys! So I know it's been a while since I uploaded (like, a year or something) but this has been sitting in my documents, unfinished for about that long. So yesterday I decided I would finally finish the damn thing. (it's songfic for Christ's sake, how hard are those? Like, not at all) Plus, it's just in time for my birthday! Yay! It's like 4AM in my time zone so technically I'm 18! Fuckin' finally, not that I can do much except buy cigarettes and porn. But I am excited about getting my tattoo : )**

** I'm actually really proud of this one (provided my humor has improved even slightly) it's based on the song Lay Me Down by The Dirty Heads. I strongly suggest you listen to it for two reasons: one, it's damn good music, and two, the tempo and feel of the song really make sense with the way I wrote this piece. So don't be afraid to YouTube it up because there's a reason I don't randomly inject pieces of the lyrics into my songfics. If you're wondering why it's called Stanny and Ky, it's because this song has always reminded me of Bonnie and Clyde and Stan and Kyle's names are just too fitting for me to pass it up.**

**ALSO: I am taking suggestions for prompts and ideas and whatnot. Feel free to PM me with ideas or leave one the comments! Please, I need something to keep me occupied this summer.**

* * *

Stanny and Ky

"Fuck!" Stan cursed, as he gunned the engine desperately for the nine-hundredth time that night. Without breaking, he ripped around a particularly sharp turn.

"Fuck Stan!" Exclaimed Kyle from the passenger seat, "Are you trying to get us killed?!"

"It's either that or we spend the rest of our lives in a stupid jail cell, so say what you want, but I'm gonna floor it." The car sped around yet another turn, before coming to a straightaway. It was at this moment that Kyle dared to look behind them through the back window.

"Scratch what I said earlier, shit! Stan can't you go any faster?! Sparks is right on our tail!" Kyle exclaimed, after having spotted a rather large black dot on the road not too far behind them.

"I'm trying, this is as fast as the car will go! From here on out it's all about luck and skill."

Kyle scoffed and shot Stan a skeptical look, despite being in their current predicament. "Well you'd better have a shitload of both, my friend, if you want to get out of this alive and free."

Stan growled as he checked the rear-view mirror. Sure enough, Sherriff Spark was gaining on them slowly, but steadily. His real name was Officer Barbrady, but Stan and Kyle had their own personal name for him after a rather unfortunate, and still quite hilarious, accident with a sparkler a few Halloweens back—it also came from the fact that "Spark" could be used as a contraction for "South Park". Since then, Stan had coined the name Spark and it stuck.

Officer Barbrady was a pretty incompetent person in general, but he wasn't completely retarded and it wasn't that hard for any amateur to follow a car at a high rate of speed, and Stan wasn't about to get caught. Without taking his eyes off the road, Stan reached over to the passenger seat, popped open the glove compartment and returned his hand to the wheel. Inside were six semi-automatic hand guns side by side. Where Stan had managed to acquire _six_ guns, Kyle didn't know. Probably his uncle Jimbo or something.

Without a second thought, Kyle grabbed one of the guns and reached for one of the clips around his waist. After loading the gun he flipped a switch on the dashboard and waited a few seconds for the sunroof to open. He unbuckled his seatbelt and twisted around to pull his body midway through the opening in the top of the car.

Kyle aimed the gun without hesitation; he had gotten over the "oh-my-god-I'm-really-going-to-fire-a-gun-and-poss ibly-kill-someone" stage long ago. He fired the gun straight at the drivers' side of the Crown Victoria police cruiser tailing them, completely undeterred by the kickback of the gun and not even blinking as the windshield cracked 50 feet away. After two shots he ducked back down into the car for a few seconds.

"Aim for the tires." Stan advised as he continued to speed down Interstate 285.

"Got it," Kyle reported dutifully. As he was making his way back through the sunroof, a hand on his wrist stopped him. He turned to Stan, who was still concentrating on the road ahead of him.

"What?" Kyle asked, somewhat impatiently, he wanted to get rid of Spark as soon as possible

"Be careful." Was all Stan said before he let go of Kyle's dainty wrist. Kyle couldn't help but smile to himself as he cocked his gun and pulled himself through the sunroof again.

* * *

Their whole situation had started really about an hour ago.

"Almost done, just a few more stacks and…we're outta here." Stan grunted as he shouldered the heavy duffel bag. Who knew one hundred grand could weigh so much?

Kyle eyed Stan for a moment before picking up his own duffel. "You really think we can pull this off?" He asked, somewhat incredulously.

Stan smiled warmly before ruffling Kyle's hair and kissing the top of it. "Think of it this way," he said as he titled Kyle's chin up with the tips of his fingers, "if we do, we'll never have to see this Godforsaken town again."

Kyle grinned, "Good enough for me."

"Hey!" called a voice from outside the window they had busted. "What are you boys doing? You're not having gay sex are you?!"

"Shit!" Stan exclaimed under his breath. "It's my grandpa!"

Kyle paled a little, "Shit, what do we do, Stan?"

Stan's eyes darted frantically around the room, his brain hurriedly trying to think of a plan.

Disguising his voice so his grandpa couldn't somehow recognize it, (you never know with senile people) Stan grabbed Kyle's hand and slowly started to edge toward the doorway. He then began to use the—almost—admirable stupidity of every adult South Park resident to his advantage.

"We're from the Bank Overseeing and Observation Bureau Society, sir." Stan said in such a ridiculously low voice, Kyle had to stifle a laugh. "This was a standardized test to make sure that the security in South Park was adequate."

Amazingly, Stan's grandpa seemed to buy it. He visibly relaxed in his electric wheelchair. "Oh, I'm sorry I didn't know this was an important test."

"It's alright, you weren't supposed to." Stan replied, thanking God or Jesus or who the hell ever that his grandfather couldn't see them. Meanwhile, he and Kyle continued to creep toward the door, just a couple more feet left and they'd be home free.

"So how was it?" Stan's grandpa asked. Stan hesitated a little.

"How was what?" He asked, wary, as he stopped his and Kyle's slow progress toward the door.

"Our security, was it adequate?" Stan calmed visibly, rolling his eyes at Kyle as they began quietly moving toward the door again.

"Yes, it managed to meet our standards, especially the 'Civilian Concern' category, which wouldn't have been met if it hadn't been for you."

Stan grandpa puffed his chest out a little in pride. "Well, you know I still have my good eye, haven't lost it since the war. Still serving my country, that's me."

By this time, Stan and Kyle had reached the door. "We hope you continue to do so sir, our country needs more veterans like you."

"Why thank you, sir."

Kyle slowly opened the door, trying to be as quiet as possible, even though Stan's grandpa was a little hard of hearing.

"You're welcome. Have a good night sir."

"You fellers be careful now." Stan's grandpa said as he powered his wheelchair in the direction of the Country Kitchen Buffet.

Only when he was completely out of sight did Stan and Kyle finally relax. Without preamble, Stan took Kyle's face into his hands and kissed his lips. It didn't last very long but the gesture was still greatly appreciated by Kyle. As they pulled away, Kyle's face broke into the idiotic and love-struck grin that he always wore whenever Stan kissed him.

"You're amazing." Kyle said, still grinning.

Stan flashed Kyle a grin of his own, "Trust me, the feeling's mutual."

A draft came through the broken window, waking Stan and Kyle from their stupor. Stan nuzzled Kyle's neck and whispered, "We can't stay here you know."

Kyle nodded. "I know. Finally, we're gonna leave this crappy town."

Stan grinned into the crook of Kyle's neck. "Let's hope people are slightly less stupid elsewhere."

Kyle scoffed, "I doubt it."

Stan's answer was a kiss to Kyle's nape. "You know, you're probably right, but one can dream. Anyway, are you all packed, love?"

He nodded, "You bet."

Stan straightened up and took Kyle's hand, leading him out the door. "Good, then let's migrate."

They stepped outside and were met with the chilly mountain air. Even after 19 years in their redneck town, Kyle still couldn't get used to the cold. He gave one violent shiver despite the jacket he was wearing and swore softly. Stan, ever the gentleman, wrapped an arm around Kyle's shoulders as they walked swiftly down the street toward Stan's car.

Just as Stan was about to open the door for Kyle, they heard the distinct voice of Stan's grandpa once again.

"Hey! What are you whippersnappers doing? Stan? Kyle? You little fuckers! Help! Sherriff! They're on the run!"

Shit!" Kyle exclaimed as they hurriedly got in the car. Without waiting for Kyle to put on his seatbelt, Stan floored it and they began the most hellish road trip of their lives.

"I really hate your Grandpa." Kyle remarked as they sped down the Interstate.

Stan scoffed as he concentrated on not crashing. "Trust me, I'm not loving him so much right now either." As he was saying this, Stan casually glanced at the rearview mirror and promptly swore.

"What now?" Kyle asked, not really sure he wanted to hear the answer.

"Sparks," was all Stan would say.

"Aw, shit. Really?"

Stan's only response was to nod curtly and shift gears, sparing only a brief pointed look at his partner in crime—literally.

"Hold on tight, babe." He said before slamming his foot on the gas pedal as hard as he could.

* * *

"How goes it up there?" Stan called up to Kyle through the sun roof. The wind was so fast that it almost whisked his boyfriend's voice away. Much like Stan was doing to Kyle.

Kyle scoffed and tossed down his reply, "See for yourself."

A slight pause ensued during which Stan was no doubt checking the rearview for the ninety-eighth-and-a-half time that night.

"You almost got 'im, babe. Just two more shots to the tires and one or two more to the windshield and you're good to go." Stan's voice was patient and encouraging, almost like they were back in fourth grade and Stan was giving him pointers on throwing a football instead of possibly killing their local sheriff.

"Kay." Kyle voiced his acknowledgement as he aimed the gun right at Sparks' front left tire. He savored the feeling of each miniature dose of adrenaline accompanying each bullet fired.

Three shots and Sparks was rendered immobile—for the time being. Kyle allowed himself to relax and slid back into his seat, putting the gun on the middle console in case the need for it arose again. He let out a deep sigh of relief and leaned his head against the window, mentally exhausted.

Stan spared a sidelong glance at his lover, noting his exhaustion. Once he had slowed down considerably, he reached over the console to take hold of Kyle's hand and relished in the smile he elicited.

"I love you," Stan said absently, who knew what might happen in the next five minutes?

"Love you too, you reckless idiot," came the affectionate reply. Stan only grinned in response.

* * *

One month. It had been one month since Stan and Kyle had robbed South Park blind and they had been on the run each and every one of those thirty days. Sherriff Spark was still on their tail along with half the damn town as his posse. The Colorado border had long since been crossed, the two lovers blazing a trail ever southward.

"How you holdin' up, babe?" Stan asked Kyle as he sat down next to him on one of the logs that made up their make-shift campsite.

"'S fine," Kyle shrugged as he once again tested his right arm, the bandage around his bicep was still as snug as it was an hour ago.

"Are you sure?" Stan pressed as he tucked a piece of Kyle's unruly hair behind his ear, "Because we can go to the hospital if you want."

"Stan, don't be an idiot. You know we can't go to the hospital," Kyle chided.

Stan bit his lip, "We could use fake names, make it harder for them to find us." But Kyle shook his head decisively.

"Spark knows I'm wounded, he'll be combing every hospital from Kansas to New Mexico."

Stan shifted uncomfortably, staring into the small fire they had built. "I know but, I just…I wish there was something I could do other than pour whiskey on it and tie a sock around your arm."

Kyle smiled gently and turned Stan's chin toward him, "Listen to me, you did the best you could under the circumstances, that's all I could ever ask of you."

Stan cast his eyes downward, a tortured look about him. "You shouldn't have gotten shot in the first place. It's my fault for getting you into this whole mess."

"You didn't get me into anything, Stan Marsh, I recall you giving me a clear choice, don't you?"

Stan's only reply was a half-hearted grunt, to which Kyle gave an exasperated sigh.

"Just because things got shitty doesn't mean you get to suddenly have a guilty conscience. We both knew what the consequences were."

Stan sat up and gingerly pulled Kyle into his chest, taking care to avoid his wound. "I know, but now that we're out on our own, all I wanna do is keep you safe and happy. The more we keep running, the harder it is to do that. So I promise you this, Kyle, I will find you a paradise. I will find you a place where we can rest easy and not have to be on the move come morning."

"I know you will. If anyone could do it, it would be you, Stan." Kyle said as he smiled into the crook of his boyfriend's neck.

Stan abruptly put Kyle back into his original seating position, sporting a positively wicked grin.

"Now, about that whiskey."

* * *

Three days later the two boys were heading down some winding back road in the heart of Texas, when Stan suddenly stopped the car.

"What's up?' Kyle asked as Stan unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of the car, making his way toward a piece of paper nailed to a tree. Kyle immediately followed Stan's lead as he prayed to God it wasn't what he thought it was.

When they arrived at the object in question, Kyle paled.

WANTED  
By US Marshalls  
Kyle Broflovski and Stan Marsh  
Armed robbery, Assault, Resisting arrest  
Extremely Dangerous  
SHOOT ON SIGHT  
Cash reward: $5000

The poster displayed two rather unflattering pictures of Stan and Kyle, making them seem not nearly as dangerous as it claimed.

Stan swore loudly as he tore the poster down, tossing it into backseat of the car and motioning for Kyle to get in. As soon as they were both in their seats, Stan punched the gas and for the next two hours tried to put as much distance between themselves and the tree as he could.

* * *

Kyle slumped on the ground and leaned his head against the car, exhausted from the day's events. Spark and his posse had finally caught up with them and practically chased them halfway across Texas. Luckily Stan had it in him to outmaneuver them as he had when they started this whole mess, while Kyle managed to hold his own as their unofficial marksman.

"You look beat." Stan observed as he walked up to him and handed him a beer.

"Aren't you?" Kyle asked somewhat breathlessly, before taking a swig of the much needed brew.

Stan shook his head flippantly.

"Nah. I kind of wanna collapse, though. If ya know what I mean." He said, punctuating his statement with a rather suggestive wink.

"That can be arranged." Stan froze at the unmistakable voice that came from the other side of the car.

Flinching at the tell-tale sound of a pistol being cocked, Stan slowly turned to face his adversary.

Sherriff Spark looked like Hell. His hat was long gone, leaving his hair in an unruly mop atop his weirdly shaped head. His sunglasses that he never seemed to be without sat perched on his hairline, one lens missing. He probably hadn't shaved in about two weeks and there was a rip in the shoulder of his uniform.

But his eyes were what really got Stan. They were bloodshot from one too many shots of Bourbon, or whatever it was that Spark drank. Beyond the alcohol, though, were the eyes of a crazed man. A man who had been foiled and deceived at every turn and had finally caught the two who were the bane of his existence.

A man who wanted him dead.

"'ooks like I fin'lly caught you two bandits. Gonna be one helluva promotion when I cart your s'rry asses back to the station." Sherriff Spark slurred with what he probably thought was a wayward smirk.

"Sure is, Spark," Stan said in the casual tone Kyle knew he only used when he had a plan, "I mean, look at us, we're practically gift-wrapped for ya."

Knowing he had the distinct advantage of not being seen, Kyle shifted quietly in his seat, giving a gentle squeeze to the back of Stan's shin to alert him that he was ready. Stan, in turn, cast a pointed glance at the empty space next to Kyle, toward the other end of the car in order to mislead Spark about Kyle's position.

"Damn right you are, 'fter the hell you put me through?" Spark spat, "Boy, you oughtta be on your knees, beggin' me not to kill you."

"On the contrary, Sherriff," Stan said as he slowly tapped his heel three times for Kyle's benefit, "It is _you_ who should be on _your_ knees."

It was at this precise moment that all hell broke loose.

Kyle couldn't really remember what happened in linear time, he only really remembered three things occurring:

One: The Sherriff clutching his breast as he collapsed on his back, blood slowly beginning to pool around him.

Two: Stan drawing his Magnum from its resting place in his back pocket almost faster than Kyle could blink.

Three: Kyle chucking the beer bottle directly at Sparks face and hitting him in the forehead, causing him to shoot blindly into the air as he struggled to regain his composure.

Perhaps not necessarily in that order.

When Kyle's brain finally worked out how to piece together time and space, he found himself in Stan's embrace. He hesitantly returned it, hardly able to believe what had just happened.

They stayed like that for a long while, at least an hour, until Stan finally broke the silence.

"We're finally free," he said, pulling back to look at Kyle. Kyle nodded slowly and after a moment he broke into an uncontrollable fit of laughter.

Stan gave his boyfriend a look like he might've just lost whatever few screws he had left. Kyle just kept laughing, not quite sure when he ever felt as happy or relieved. A few seconds later Stan couldn't help himself as he started laughing too, pulling Kyle flush against his chest as he did so.

Eventually Kyle felt Stan's lips envelope his, causing his giggles to die down as he focused on deepening the kiss.

Stan broke the kiss, leaning his forehead against Kyle's. "What say you and I go find that paradise?" He whispered.

Kyle's face broke into an unshakeable grin, eyes shining as he gave Stan his reply.

"Lead the way."

* * *

Stan inhaled deeply, breathing in the balmy ocean air and relishing in the feeling of the sun warming his skin. Corozal, Honduras was definitely a major step up from dreary South Park, Colorado. Here Stan could lie in the beach all day without a care in the world. Life was good for Stan, he was filthy stinking rich, he lived on one of the most beautiful islands in the western Caribbean, and he got to share it all with a bombshell redhead for a boyfriend.

"Hey, troublemaker," Speaking of bombshell redheads, Stan smiled at the familiar endearment that was so befitting.

"Hey, yourself." Stan tossed back as he turned to embrace Kyle, "How was work?"

Kyle scoffed, "Drunk tourists, wasn't even four yet."

"Well, they gotta do _something_ to take their minds off all the money their spending." Stan replied, chuckling.

Kyle just shrugged, "Eh, not my problem, it's good tip money."

Stan laughed and playfully pushed Kyle down on his back in the sand. For a moment, neither of them said anything as they just looked into each other's eyes.

"Kyle, you have fucking beautiful eyes." Stan remarked after a minute, if somewhat obnoxiously.

"I know, you've told me I dunno how many times," Kyle said as he rolled his eyes.

"Hey, hey Kyle?" Stan pressed, clearly proud of something he just thought of. Kyle gave a mock groan.

"What?"

"It's so hot out, can I go swimming in your eyes?" The goofy grin on Stan's face alone was enough to make Kyle guffaw as he practically spit in Stan's face. Once he regained his composure he promptly smacked the back of Stan's head.

"Don't quit your day job, Romeo."

"You know, it's funny that you say that. 'Cus I kind of have this thing—actually, a lot of these things—that make it so that I basically don't have to work for the rest of my life.

Kyle narrowed his eyes, "Go ahead, I dare you."

"But I love my beautiful and hardworking boyfriend, who doesn't want our money to run out, too much to ever do that," Stan quickly amended.

"That's what I thought."

Stan gave an easy laugh, nuzzling Kyle's neck softly, "So everyone's going to the Cantina after they get off work, you in?"

Kyle rolled his eyes, though he was smiling, "Yeah, I'm in. But you still owe me that walk on the beach, remember?"

"It's not my fault we had a hurricane!" Stan protested.

"Whatever, just shut up and kiss me and _maybe_ I'll forgive you."

"Challenge, accepted," Stan agreed, eyes flashing as he leaned down to kiss his amazing boyfriend.

They went at it for a few seconds until Stan pulled away suddenly, a suspicious frown on his face.

"Did someone buy you a drink at work, again? You taste like tequila."

Kyle shrugged once again, a mischievous glint in his eye, "Maybe. Could be the saltwater, you never know."

"Right, because seawater is alcoholic," Stan deadpanned.

"C'mon it was free alcohol!" Kyle whined.

Stan raised an eyebrow, "You want free alcohol, Kyle? I'll show you free alcohol."

"Bring it on," Kyle shot back, loving it when his boyfriend got all riled up.

"Oh, I will. I'm gonna get your ass so drunk you won't even be able to think straight. And then I'm gonna fuck you so hard you'll forget all about what's-his-face Joe Schmoe that bought you that damn drink.

"It wasn't a guy, it was a girl and she was not nearly as pretty as you." Kyle said indignantly.

"Damn straight she wasn't." Stan agreed as he pulled Kyle into another kiss, this one ten times more passionate than the first.

They stayed like that for a while. There was nothing but the two of them lying in the sand as the waves crashed and the surf licked at their heels.

This time, it was Kyle who broke the kiss. "We gonna hit up the place, or what?"

Stan smirked, "Someone's a little eager, aren't they?"

Kyle matched Stan's smirk easily, "You have no idea."

* * *

**Yeah I know, aren't they just adorable? I love the way I made Stan such a cheeky little badass. Then again, I think I always do him that way. Whatever, this time he has GUNS. Sexy, right?**

**Two things: did anybody notice that I kind if made them sound a little southern? Especially Barbrady. And did anybody notice my hilarious and completely immature acronym? If you didn't go back to the bank robbery scene and double check Stan's made-up federal department.**

**Anyways, thanks for reading! I hope you all enjoyed it and hopefully I'll be able to upload more goodies this summer. I'll be going to college in the fall so I don't even have to worry about any obnoxious summer reading assignments. Fuck yea! **

**Don't forget to R&R and also don't forget to say happy birthday to me in the comments! Prompts and ideas are welcome!**

**Love, Vindictive Locomotive**


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